A Long Awaited Debut
by hadison
Summary: After Félicie's debut in the Nutcracker, Odette begins her journey of falling in love with dance again. She, with Mérante to guide her, relearns the pas de deux the two were supposed to perform in their debut as prima ballerina and ballet master - a debut stolen by the fire - all the while rebuilding a long neglected relationship... Updates to come! :))


Odette opened her eyes and sat up, glancing around the attic room she and Félicie shared. Her sweet girl was already gone – training had ramped up significantly after her debut in the Nutcracker last week. The past few days had been a whirlwind for them both, and their schedules rarely lined up anymore. Félicie was now enrolled in several technique and performance classes, a few of which were taught by Mérante.

Louis Mérante.

Odette had never met anyone else like him. His intensity, drive, and precision were unmatched, and his awareness of the world around him made him the ballet master and world-renowned choreographer that he was today. Unfortunately, that also awarded him a much higher social status than her, which in Odette's mind only furthered the gap between them. Until the other day, despite their history, she never would have considered trying to reconnect with him – to rekindle what they once had…

She lifted a hand to her face, where she could still the feel ghost of his soft kiss. Before that happened, the two of them had been locked in a complicated, tense series of interactions that did little for Odette's confusion about here they stood with each other. Odette smiled, remembering how he'd looked at her, and how it felt to have his arm around her shoulders. She couldn't fathom why he would still want her...the fire ten years ago had robbed her of her ability to dance; she was poor and, apart from her cleaning skills, had little value to the ballet. Félicie had given Odette hope again, but it wasn't the same. She wasn't the same.

Nevertheless, their interactions had been distinctly different lately – more…intentional. Even if it was just in passing, Mérante made a point of stopping to greet her and checked in whenever he had the chance. More than once, he had sought her out while she was sweeping the stage at night. He would watch for a minute or two, admiring her grace and poise before making his presence known.

Mérante wanted to get to know Odette again – he'd spent so much time achingly far from her after being pushed away, unable to help or support her after the fire without hurting her more. He wanted to make up for that time as best he could.

Though most of their nights were spent talking, Mérante had once managed to persuade Odette to dance with him. She had been incredibly reluctant, insisting that she couldn't and backing away until Mérante had walked right up to her, taken her cane, and held her hands tightly in his. She could smell his cologne as he looked her right in the eye.

"Please?" he asked quietly, tentatively.

She sighed and gave in, leaning into him as he walked her slowly to the center of the stage. Both of their hearts were racing, and they both pretended not to notice. Mérante wrapped one arm snugly around Odette, held her hand with the other, and started to turn them through a series of circles. After a few minutes, he led her through a slow turn and dipped her low, making her laugh. When they were both standing upright again, Mérante kissed Odette's forehead. She pulled back and looked at him, her cheeks pink and her eyes full of intensity. His lips parted as if to say something, but Odette cut him off. She took back her cane and looked down awkwardly.

"Thank you for the dance, but I should go…Félicie must be wond– " She stopped short when she saw the flash of disappointment in Mérante's eyes. He turned away, searching for a reason to ask her to stay. Staring into the audience, all he could come up with was "How's your leg?"

Odette extended it out in front of her, wincing slightly. "It's fine," she murmured, "just mildly inconvenient."

Mérante looked at her over his shoulder, curiosity evident on his face. "Where did it happen?"

"I guess I never told you…" She took a deep breath and made her way to a spot close to where he was standing. "My foot went through the stage floor right around here. That's where the fire started: underneath us all. It just gave out beneath me."

As she got lost in the memory, terror crept into her voice and she spoke faster and faster as she retraced her steps around the stage. "It was very, very hot, and I could feel my tights starting to burn. One of the other ballerinas eventually pulled me out – I wanted to check on my foot but by that time the proscenium was starting to crack and the smoke was so thick we could barely see, much less breathe. We tried to run but everything started falling and next thing I knew the ceiling was hitting the stage. I dove to try and avoid a huge piece of debris and ended up right in the path of another. I remember the snapping sound when it landed on my leg and I remember it hurting, but only briefly. I passed out not too long after." She paused, sweat on her brow and tears on her face. She leaned heavily on her cane; her legs were trembling, as was her voice.

Mérante's elegant features were contorted in pain and sadness as he watched Odette try to regain her breath. She looked down and continued. "I thought I was going to die there. I have no idea how I ended up outside. The worst part of it all was that when I woke up after it was all over, I wished I was dead. I knew I wouldn't dance again. The burns on my foot were going to scar and my leg wouldn't allow it. At that moment, I thought I would've rather died dancing than survive and have to try to find a way to live without it."

The silence that settled over the two of them was unlike any other. The tension was palpable as the two locked eyes across the stage. Mérante's heart ached for her and he was frantically trying to compose himself. Alas, when he spoke, his voice was still raw with sorrow. "Odette, why didn't you tell me?"

"About what?" she snapped, "About wishing I was dead?"

He wasn't entirely surprised by the hostility, but it stung nonetheless.

Then, suddenly, Odette sat down on the edge of the stage, put her head in her hands, and let the tears flow freely. "I was so ashamed. The fire took everything from me. I had no idea who I was without ballet – to be honest, I still don't. You deserve so much more than what I can offer - I'm…I'm nothing."

The only other time he'd seen her cry was during Félicie's Nutcracker debut, and even then those were tears of pride. Tears of pain or sadness? Never.

Mérante's shock gave way to a quiet, passionate rage. Here he was, letting Odette walk around in this indescribable pain, thinking that she wasn't worthy of the world she missed so desperately. He knelt next to her, took her in his arms and rested his chin lightly on the top of her head, fighting the very strong urge to kiss her.

"My dear, you don't see yourself very clearly. You're _so far_ from nothing. You're…you're _everything_."

The two stayed like that for a considerable amount of time, until Mérante noticed that Odette was beginning to doze off. She had allowed herself to be comforted, and was now worn out. Trying not to disturb her too much, he picked her up and started to carry her to her room. She opened her eyes, saw what was happening, and smiled to herself. She sat up a little and brushed her lips against his cheek. His eyes closed briefly, savoring the moment.

"Thank you, Louis." Odette whispered.

His breath hitched in his throat. She hadn't used his first name in years – he'd forgotten how it sounded when she said it. Perfect.


End file.
